


Phoenix

by AlocYrrehc



Category: Ballerina | Leap! (2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:41:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 6,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29771505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlocYrrehc/pseuds/AlocYrrehc
Summary: Tonight you will set Paris on fire.I don't own these characters, I'm just engaging in a bit of wish fulfillment.Originally posted on FFN July 5, 2020.
Relationships: Louis Mérante/Odette
Comments: 2





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't own these characters; I'm just engaging in a bit of wish fulfillment.

Prologue

In the private dressing room her patron had secured for her, Odette laced her shoes with care and checked her costume one last time in the full length mirror. Satisfied that everything was in place, she bound to the door, unable to contain her excitement.

Odette had begun at the _Théâtre de l'Opéra_ at eight years old. Her mother, unable to support her after the birth of yet another daughter, had left her to the ballet corps, where she had danced by day and cleaned by night. By thirteen, she had been sponsored by none other than Gustave Le Haut, the wealthiest patron at _l'Opéra_ since Louis XVI. Now, four years later, she was moments away from her debut as a principal ballerina in the world premiere of a new ballet, Coppelia.

"Swanhilda," she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself to assure she was not, in fact, dreaming. A gentle knock sounded at the door, and Gustave appeared as she swung the door wide.

"My dear, you are a vision," he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head, careful not to disturb her carefully crafted curls. Odette gave him a quick hug, grateful every day she had secured a patron genuinely interested in the arts, and not the art of enjoying _le corps féminin._ Gustave treated her like a daughter, and his sponsorship protected her from the lecherous hands and roving eyes of some of the other patrons. "You will set Paris on fire tonight." He bowed, turned and headed for his box.

Odette watched as the other patrons started to trickle out of the green room. Most of the girls ran to the mirrors in a flurry of last-minute adjustments to hair, costumes, and makeup. One couple caught her eye, her friend Beatrice deep in conversation with her beaux as if there weren't a performance starting in just a few minutes. Suddenly Beatrice was lifted off her feet and swung around, and Odette turned away as the couple melted into an intimate kiss.

A few minutes later, Beatrice came bounding into the wings, found Odette and hugged her. "You're going to be incredible tonight."

"Thank you," Odette smiled. "Looked like you had a wonderful evening."

She blushed, turning the same shade of red as her hair. "Gilles proposed."

Odette kissed her friend on the cheek. "I am so happy for you. Tell me more tonight, yes?" Beatrice nodded, and, graceful as always, Odette moved through the rest of the _corps de ballet_ to her place at the center of the stage. After a few calming breaths, she moved into her starting position. The curtain rose, the music began, and Odette was transformed. The audience watched in awe as Odette told the story of a woman, a man, an inventor, a life-size doll, and a case of mistaken identity.

It was a small mistake; Odette began the third act one step forward. Another small mistake; her growing fatigue landed her a fraction forward. It was the last small mistake; just a step too close to the lights and suddenly, she was setting Paris on fire. Only, it wasn't Paris that was on fire. The flames licked at her legs and she fell to her knees, setting parts of the stage ablaze.

The corps immediately took action to protect _l'Opéra_ , but none thought to tend to their principal. Unable to scream, unable to move, the last thing Odette saw was Gustave running toward her, yanking off his jacket.

Odette woke in the apartment her patron had rented for her, though it no longer resembled her room, rather, a small hospital. Day after day, Odette worked to regain even the ability to walk. She cried herself to sleep knowing she would never dance again. Gustave came to see her every day, assuring her that he was her patron through it all and would see to it that she was cared for, dancer or no, as he had come to care for her as a daughter.

Odette looked up one Friday afternoon, expecting to see Gustave. It had been two days since he'd seen her, which was unusual, and she was surprised instead to see the director of the ballet, Lucien Pepita. "Odette, I'm afraid I bring bad news," he said without feeling.

'What could possibly be worse than never dancing again?' she wondered briefly, and soon found out.

"Monsieur Le Haut has died." Odette felt the room disappear, her vision blurring. "I regret to inform you: his estate will not continue to pay for your care, but the Le Haut family has graciously agreed to give you lodging and offer you employment. The Opera will pay for your care up to this point, but you will have to repay us once you are able to resume work. Please pack your things. We will be leaving at once."

Odette packed only her plainest dresses, a few trinkets from Gustave, and her treasured red shoes, the first pair she had purchased for herself after securing her patron. "You may sell the rest to go toward my debts, Monsieur Pepita." He nodded absently. She picked up her case, took hold of her cane, and walked away from her old life with her head held high.


	2. Chapter 2

Within moments of arriving at the home of her late patron, Odette realized her lodging and employment were not offered with grace. Gustave's eldest daughter Régine was cruel, believing Odette had taken Régine's place in her father's heart. Gustave's wife, Hélène, didn't believe that her late husband had remained faithful in his years as a patron of the _Théâtre de l'Opéra_.

Hélène walked briskly through her massive home, ignoring Odette's increasingly labored breathing as she struggled to keep up. Hélène had an endless list of chores Odette was expected to complete in exchange for room and board. Odette did the best she could to keep a straight face, but she could not help the sweat pouring from every crevice as her muscles screamed in protest. After climbing an interminable staircase, Odette was dismayed to learn her room was at the top of yet another staircase, the servant's quarters tucked away in the highest attic. After stowing the few belongings she'd kept, she made her way back to Hélène, who was tapping her foot as she waited. A thin, dirty scullery maid stood behind her, bucket and rag in hand. Régine was peeking out of her room, watching her mother closely. At the snap of Hélène's fingers, the scullery maid put the bucket at her feet and scurried off, heading away through the servant's tunnels. "You should really get to work," Hélène smirked. "It's not clean," she said, kicking the bucket as she turned to go. Odette watched in dismay as the soapy water flowed down the marble stairs. Resigned, she picked up the rag and got to work.

Odette rose before the sun the next morning, dressed, and made her way to _l'Opéra_. She quietly made her way to Lucien's office and waited for instructions. Dawn to dusk, she would work at _l'Opéra_ , return to Madame Le Haut's to clean for a few hours, sleep for a few hours, then repeat. After a few days, Odette had gotten into a routine that allowed her to avoid most of the dancers; she didn't have the heart to face them every day, to ignore their stares and whispers at how far she had fallen.

There was one member of the coryphée class that she never could avoid, a tiny sprite of eleven named Rosita Mauri. Before the accident, Rosita had looked up to Odette the way one might an older sister. Every day, Rosita would find Odette and jabber away as if nothing had changed. One afternoon Rosita took the broom from Odette and began to sweep, dancing with the broom as if it were her pas de deux partner. "Stop!" Rosita looked up at Odette, surprised tears in her eyes. "Please, Rosita, stop."

"But –"

"No, Rosita. It isn't the same anymore. Watching you… I'm reminded of what I've lost every day, can't you understand that? It is too much."

Rosita handed her the broom after a moment's hesitation. "Odette, you're still a dancer," she put one hand on Odette's thigh. "That doesn't come from here," she moved to touch Odette's heart. "It comes from here. Remember? You told me that once."

This time the tears belonged to Odette. "I remember." She kissed Rosita's forehead. "Thank you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts: I already knew that Odette was most likely based on Emma Livry, but I found out today Louis Mérante and August Emmanuel Vaucorbeil were both real guys. Mérante was even in a Degas painting! We're just going to ignore that part of history (and his story) because it doesn't work in this grand fiction I've created in my head. I don't own the characters I'm just playing around with them.

The train gave a depressed whine before shuddering to a stop. Louis Mérante stood, stretched, and quickly disembarked from the train. He found his valet, gave brief instructions on where to meet him before heading to the street to hail a hackney cab. After days stuck on the train from St. Petersburg he had half a mind to walk to _l'Opéra_ , but thought better of it as he caught a glance of the hawkeyed pickpockets and beggars that lined the streets.

A short time later he was striding up the steps of _Théâtre de l'Opéra_ , considering the last time he had walked those steps eight years ago, in the opposite direction. He had been a hot-headed prima donna, arrogant and overconfident. He had fought with Lucien, arguing that a principal role at 16 in St. Petersburg was more important than joining the corps at _l'Opéra_ , even though a principal role would be his within four years. St. Petersburg had money and women, and the fame he had enjoyed had kept him going for years. Two years into his second five-year contract, however, he'd begun to feel creatively stifled. He wasn't given the opportunity to expand the choreography, even though he'd be equal to the task. He'd written to Lucien, who'd tried to get him out of his contract, but was unable to. Finally, after ten long years in Russia, he was returning home as a principal and assistant director of choreography. It was a step below, had he stayed in Paris, but he had no one to blame but himself.

He was so lost in the past that he didn't see the elderly maid until he'd bumped into her, knocking her to the ground. "Forgive me, madame," he stopped short. This was no old maid, but a young woman. "Forgive me, mademoiselle," he helped her to her feet, retrieving her cane. "Did I hurt you?"

The maid blushed and looked down, a position at war with her innate grace. "No sir. Forgive me, I meant no offense."

Stunned into temporary silence, Mérante simply stared at her, willing her to look him in the eye again. After an eternity passed in three heartbeats, he released her hands and handed her the cane. "No offense, mademoiselle." He bowed, watching her shuffle past, spine straight, head up. She was a study in contradictions – meek yet confident, ungainly yet graceful, icy with the warmest blue eyes he'd ever seen.

He was still picturing her as he walked into Lucien's office, but the sight of Lucien made him forget her for the moment. Lucien had aged far more than ten years since he'd last seen him. The older man greeted him with a handshake, which Mérante shook off, pulling his mentor into a hug. Lucien's letters had hinted at urgency, leaving Mérante to wonder if he was ill.

They discussed Mérante's expanded role over dinner brought by a brown-eyed servant. Mérante longed to find some pretense to ask about her, but what reason could he possibly have to need to know about her? After a few hours Mérante finally excused himself, heading to his temporary flat in the theater district. Exhausted, he fell into a sadly dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Odette spent a restless night thinking of Louis Mérante. It was amazing how much more she knew about the everyday workings of the theater now that she was invisible as a servant. In the month she'd been working off her debt, she had learned that Lucien was battling cancer, and was looking for a successor. While he trusted August Vaucorbeil to take over as director of the theater, he didn't have the vision or skill to push the ballet to the next level, which was why he had pushed Mérante to leave Russia.

'Mérante, Mérante, Mérante,' she thought to herself. Was she imagining his intense gaze? She thought back to his face, his dark, expressive eyes, his sharp features, his dark, wavy hair framing his face. Odette had seen handsome men before but there was something else about Mérante. She found herself imagining his arms around her, his lips on hers, her hands tangled in his hair… She shook her head to rid herself of the image. Mérante was the new principal of the company, the heir apparent to the ballet master, and who was she? A mere servant, stuck paying off an insurmountable debt for the rest of her life. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and cried herself to sleep.

Odette felt that she had adapted well to her loss of fortune. She had come from nothing, and a part of her had always feared that she would return to nothing. She was no stranger to hard work; she had been the eldest of six when her mother had gotten pregnant again, and fallen to Odette to care for the children, clean and cook. The hardest thing for her was the pitying looks and whispers of the other members of the ballet school. Girls who had previously envied her success now reveled in her fall, but none was worse than Régine Le Haut. Régine had been in Odette's class since they were ten years old, but Régine had no talent, just a wealthy patron of a father. When Gustave chose to sponsor Odette, he had stopped paying for Régine's instruction.

Both Régine and her mother had resented Odette's relationship with Gustave, and made it known in the myriad ways they complicated things for her throughout the day. They would walk down a hall she'd only just finished cleaning leaving footprints, move her cane when she wasn't looking, and a hundred other things to make more work for her. Today, Hélène had asked Odette to change the linens in the third-floor guest rooms. Changing linens was her least favorite chore as she couldn't carry the bulky linens up in all at once and had to make multiple trips up the infinite stairs. After her third trip, she paused to rest outside the door of the guest room, and heard familiar, intimate noises coming from the other side. Expecting one of the other maids, she opened the door, only to find Régine in flagrante delicto with a much older gentleman. Neither noticed her, and she held her breath as she backed away and silently closed the door.

A few weeks later, Odette came across Régine rushing to the bathroom. She didn't mean to overhear, but the distinct sounds coming through the door couldn't be mistaken. She hurried down the hall as silently as she could, but Régine saw her as she came out. "You'll need to clean up in there," she sneered, though Odette could hear a crack in her cruel veneer. "Something cook made is upsetting my stomach."

"How long has it been happening?" Regine smirked, shrugged and turned away. "You're pregnant."

"What do you know? Of course I'm not."

"I saw you."

A look of pure terror flashed across Régine's face before she put her features back together. "What do you want?"

Odette was surprised. She hadn't considered how valuable this piece of information was. She would never tell Hélène, who wouldn't believe her anyway, but Régine didn't know that. "I want to be moved out of the attic quarters." Régine simply nodded. For the briefest of moments, Odette felt sorry for Régine. "You're going to have to choose one of your suitors." She looked her up and down, stopping pointedly on her stomach. "And soon."


	5. Chapter 5

Mérante stormed through the halls of the ballet school, ignoring the ballerinas climbing over each other to get out of his way. In the months since he'd returned, he'd established his reputation as a demanding _maître de ballet_. The Russian method of drilling and repetition of basics had stuck with him, and he had been pushing his classes to their limits to bring out the best in them. It had not won him favor amongst the corps.

Today, however, he was desperate to get in a good workout. The morning had been spent arguing with Pepita and Vaucorbeil about his newest ballet. Neither was willing to take a risk on such an unproven ballet, but if that were the case, then why bring him back at all? He found an empty practice room and changed quickly, then took his time stretching in the dressing room. The last thing he needed was to injure himself on account of his temper. The administration of the ballet was something he thought he'd ease into, instead he'd been thrown into it full tilt, reinforcing his thought that Lucien was not long for this world.

He walked out to the practice room, set the metronome, and began to dance. This was what he was born to do, he thought, the long strides, the powerful leaps, fouetté, jeté, fouetté, jeté, until he was sweating and breathing hard. He looked up to find the blue-eyed maid watching him. As soon as she saw him, she gave a quick curtsey and turned to go.

"Wait!" he cried, wondering once again what it was about her that he found so intriguing. He longed for another glimpse of her eyes, which he'd felt had seen right through him the last time they'd met. She turned toward him, eyes down. 'Look up, look up,' he thought.

"I'm sorry, sir. I just wanted to watch you dance."

He was making her uncomfortable, he realized. "It's quite alright. I didn't realize anyone would be using the room," pointing to her bucket. 'Fool,' he thought, 'reminding her of her station. Find out who she is!' But before he could say anything else, she was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Odette had done everything in her power to avoid Mérante. After their first collision, she hadn't been able to get him out of her head. She had learned his schedule and worked around it. At first she wasn't sure why he bothered her so much. It dawned on her a few weeks later: had she not been injured they'd have been pas de deux partners.

It wasn't unheard of for pas de deux partners to become romantically involved. There was always a bit of a scandal at first, but afterward it was accepted, almost as if it were expected. She'd never found that kind of intimacy with any of her previous partners (probably because they'd have enjoyed each other's company more than hers) but the thought of what she could have had with Mérante had sent her further into herself. For the first time since her accident she realized that she'd lost not only a career, but maybe a partner, love, a family…

She looked around the practice studio, which was cleaner than it had ever been. She'd mopped it at least three times while ruminating over lost chances. No sooner had she stepped into the hall than she was struck by a serenade. "Ah, my dear Odette," Odette rolled her eyes. One of Auguste's many idiosyncrasies he rarely spoke a sentence, but rather would sing in his rich baritone. "It's time to find you a costume for the servant's ball!"

Odette's blood ran cold. She had forgotten about the annual servant's ball on Christmas Eve, where the servants dressed up in costumes and were "treated" to an evening of finery. It had made Odette uncomfortable when she was a dancer. She'd always felt most of the dancers were making fun of the servants, and the thought of having to participate on the other end filled her with dread. "No, Monsieur Vaucorbeil, I will not attend the servant's ball this year."

Auguste stared at her in shock, unable to comprehend why she wouldn't want to attend. "But of course you will. It is tradition."

"Thank you, Monsieur, for your," she stalled a moment, trying in vain to maintain an air of respect in her assertion, "kind offer. But I will not attend."

"But I insist! Come, let us find you a costume." He took her arm opposite her cane and led her off toward the costume hall, and Odette knew she could not protest further. Her life, she was reminded, belonged to _l'Opéra_.

Four nights later, Odette stood in the grand hall of _l'Opéra_ in an elaborate blue silk gown that was at least fifty years out of fashion. Despite the dated cut, the color was a flattering contrast to her pale skin and dark hair. She had taken time to twist her hair into an elegant chignon and wore the simple string of pearls Gustave had given her the year before.

As she feared, the dancers spoke haughtily to the other servants as they sipped champagne passed around by the youngest dancers, many of whom were hardly more than servants themselves. She took a flute that was offered, but discretely dumped nearly all its contents into a nearby plant. Odette suspected her stomach would protest at the rich foods offered tonight after nearly a year of simple bread and broth for meals. She walked slowly throughout the room, trying her best to disappear in the crowd. Odette had nearly reached the doors to the practice hall when Monsieur Pepita announced the dancing would begin. Stricken, Odette ducked quickly behind the curl of the stair to avoid being partnered for a dance.

She stood motionless, watching the dance, fighting the desire to spin and twirl with the music. It was one of her favorite dances, and she was about to give in to the music when she overheard Mérante, who was standing above her on the stairs.

"Lucien, I don't see the point of the servant's ball."

"It's tradition, Louis. The servants look forward to it all year."

' _Hardly,'_ Odette thought darkly.

"It's degrading, Lucien, honestly. To dress them up and parade them about? They know their stations…"

Mérante was no longer in earshot, but Odette had heard enough. _'Well, at least I know where I stand with Monsieur Mérante, and I can put him out of my head.'_

Odette's steps were heavy as she reached the Le Haut residence. She let herself in through the servant's door and was surprised to come face to face with Hélène.

"Ah, Odette. Regine was engaged this evening. Her fiancé's family will be joining us tomorrow, I expect the dining room to be impeccable." Odette nodded her understanding. "I have decided to move you to the downstairs servant quarters. Here is your key. You may move your things after you've finished the dining room. There will be a new girl in your room tomorrow evening. Be sure it is ready for her." Odette sighed, happily. Only one more night of climbing the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

Mérante hated the servant's ball. To him it seemed a misguided attempt at magnanimity, but instead, took the servants away from their families on Christmas Eve, and seemed to put unnecessary emphasis on their difference in stations. He had tried, unsuccessfully, to convince Pepita that a Christmas bonus would be better spent, but he'd been overruled. _'The one saving grace of this evening is I might finally find out who that young maid is. But to what end?'_ He was at war with himself. Fraternizing with a maid would hardly be proper, but she had bewitched him entirely.

Auguste's lyrical voice interrupted his dark thoughts. "You seem miles away," he sang, grating on Louis' nerves.

"Lucien, I don't see the point of the servant's ball."

"It's tradition, Louis. The servants look forward to it all year."

' _I somehow doubt it,'_ Lous thought darkly.

"It's degrading, Lucien, honestly. To dress them up and parade them about? They know their stations and don't need to be reminded of it on Christmas Eve. Let them spend the night with their families."

"Oh, not this again. Please, Louis, understand, this is a tradition that goes back to the start of _l'Opéra_. Surely even you aren't so arrogant as to think you can change these things?"

Louis crossed his arm, a darkness falling over his face. "Things change, Auguste. Even here. Imagine if we had electric lights on the stage? None of that ugliness would have happened last year. No dead dancers, no repairs, no scandal."

"Dead dancers? Preposterous. Odette is fine. Well, a bit worse for the wear of course. She should be here somewhere. I believe I picked out a blue dress for her for tonight."

"She is here, at the Servant's Ball?" All the pieces fell into place for Mérante. The grace with which she moved, despite her injury; that was from years of training. The way she melted into the shadows and avoided the eyes of everyone she passed; she was avoiding the pitying looks of her former peers. He searched for her all night, but she was no where to be found.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N – Odette uses her cane in her right hand, which means that her left leg should be the injured leg, as you should use an assistive device on the opposite side.

The rest of the holiday season passed uneventfully for Odette. At l'Opéra she fastidiously avoided Mérante, and at the Le Haut residence, she fastidiously avoided Hélène. Preparations for the upcoming nuptials, to be completed in record time, had everyone on edge. Régine had accepted the hand of a distant cousin, Clement Le Haut, an unctuous, spineless, ambitionless toad. Odette had no doubt Régine had chosen him because he'd be easy to control, and easy to fool.

Despite the added stress and additional duties, Odette was looking forward to the wedding. It had been decided that the newlyweds would head out on a three-month tour of Europe, and Hélène would take the opportunity to visit her sister in Vienna. Odette would have no one in the Le Haut household to answer to beyond Monsier Alexandre, the butler, and Madame Arsenau, the housekeeper. It was this thought that motivated her as the Le Haut tyrants put more and more duties onto Odette.

After the days, which felt like months, of preparations came to an end, both women were seen off in a flurry of trunks and skirts. All the servants had been given a half day off to rest, and Odette gratefully returned to her own room. Her first instinct was to fall into bed and never get out, but instead she spent some time stretching and massaging her leg. Her left leg was scarred from toe to hip, and much of her left torso also. The extensive burns had done nerve and muscle damage, and she had a hard time bending at any of the joints.

She warmed up, not unlike a warm-up at the barre, and worked to flex her toes, her knees, her hips. She knew she should be doing this every day, for on the days she was able to her pain was far lessened, but she rarely had time between the demands of l'Opéra and the Le Haut residents. She hummed a tune as she stretched, and soon she was doing a simple dance. Eyes closed, Odette hummed, spun, and did a simple dance around her room. Sweaty, but satisfied, she lie down and drifted to sleep, a true smile on her face.


	9. Chapter 9

The sun had just about disappeared as Mérante sunk into the chair of his new office. He'd just returned from Lucien Pepita's funeral, and as of this morning, the ballet was his. Lucien wasn't even in the ground and _l'Opéra_ 's board of directors had already changed the nameplate on the door. There were many things Mérante was looking forward to in his role as director of _l'Opéra_ , namely, that he would finally be able to debut his ballet, _Le Deux Pigeons_ , but the day to day workings of _l'Opéra_ simply bored him.

He pulled open a drawer in the desk, pulled out a ledger and started reading. Endless, boring lists of expenses, revenues, payroll. At the thought of payroll he smiled briefly; he would not mind the new salary. He was nearing thirty, after all, and should buy a proper home in town. Lucien had left him a small sum, and with all he'd saved in Russia he'd be able to live the life of a true gentleman. He stopped just before closing the ledger when a familiar name caught his eye: Odette Richard. According to her page in the ledger, Odette was working off an astronomical sum in service to _l'Opéra_. Mérante did some quick maths in his head and was horrified to realize it would take the young maid an additional forty-nine years to be free of her debt.

Mérante shut the book with finality, shaking his head of such thoughts. What was she to him? A mystery with a pretty face. He sighed and headed to the practice rooms to work out a particularly vexing piece of choreography and get his mind off of those haunting blue eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

Winter passed smoothly with both Régine and Hélène away. Spring had just begun to show its colors when the Le Haut residence was rocked with the news that Hélène had died in her sleep on her last night in Vienna. The staff was in a frenzy; Régine and Clemente would be cutting their own honeymoon short as, according to Madame Arsenau, 'Madame Régine has blessedly become with child.' Odette had worked hard not to snort at the news. She wondered idly if Clemente would understand what it meant when Régine delivered two months early.

The day before the Le Hauts were slated to return, Odette was working on polishing the arms of each chair in the main theater when a gaggle of young dancers came prancing in, laughing and chatting, and settling into the front rows of the theater and the floor of the orchestra pit to stretch and put on their shoes. 'Auditions.' Odette cursed at herself for forgetting. She paused to watch one of the new girls, one she didn't recognize, do some simple choreography and this time she did snort. "The energy of a bullet and the lightness of a depressed elephant," she laughed.

"My, that's a strong opinion."

Odette gasped and turned to face Mérante, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. Eyes down, she curtsied low. "Forgive my impertinence, sir. I only meant…. Nothing, sir. I meant nothing."

Mérante gave a quick and courteous bow, staring at her with a look on his face Odette couldn't quite read. Odette expected him to turn, or to break eye contact, and when he didn't the high-pitched chatter slowly faded away. A tiny smile formed on the right side of Mérante's mouth, making Odette's stomach lurch in an unexpectedly pleasant way. The moment stretched until the pianist began warming up. Odette jumped, startled by how little space was between them, and landed awkwardly on her left leg. It crumpled below her, Mérante's arms wrapping around her before she hit the ground. Odette again felt that unfamiliar tug in her stomach, this time leaving her feeling flushed all over. Straightening, and with every ounce of grace she could muster, she bid Mérante adieu and left him staring after her in wonder once again.


	11. Chapter 11

Mérante found himself unable to look away from her retreating form, the roar of blood in his ears the only sound. The ghost of her warmth was fading from his arms; he hadn't imagined the heat of that moment between them, had he? The decision to follow her wasn't a conscious one, but was foiled by Vaucirbeil's booming, singsong voice, "shall we begin, Monsieur Mérante?"

Hours later, Mérante emerged from auditions with a massive headache and half a mind to resign as director. He felt no closer to casting his ballet than he had this morning. Rosita Mauri was the strongest candidate, with perfect form and striking intensity, but at barely thirteen, she didn't have the experience or stamina for the part. L'Opéra had invested so much into Odette that they'd lost some of the other principals to Venice, Madrid, and even St Petersburg. Even two years after her accident, l'Opéra still had a void to fill.

Mérante had hoped to enjoy some silence in his office, but instead was confronted yet again with August. August spoke, rather than sang, his greeting to Mérante, and Mérante knew he was in trouble. "Will you join me for dinner this evening?"

"And who will be joining us this time?"

"What makes you think–"

Mérante cut him off. "I know you, August, and I know your game. I have told you I am too young to be married. I don't even have a home in town yet."

"A respectable director–"

"Every member of the board knew I was a bachelor when they voted me on. I am not going to be paraded about and pawned off on every daughter trying to make a step up in the world."

"Louis-"

Mérante held up his hand. "No. I will not go, August. I will not."

He gave Mérante a rare hard look. "I will beg off for you this time-"

"It wasn't even my idea-"

"But eventually you will have to marry. It sends the wrong message, otherwise."

Mérante rolled his eyes, but nodded in consent, if only to end the conversation.


	12. Chapter 12

The Le Haut family had broken even: gaining one and losing one in a single night. Camille was born, squashed, red faced and angry, just minutes before her father keeled over from a heart attack, leaving Régine an incredibly wealthy and not particularly grieving widow.

Odette threw herself into her work, for it seemed that anytime she paused to catch her breath, Régine would saunter in, raise a cruel eyebrow in Odette's general direction, and give her several additional tasks to complete before nightfall. Régine still payed her, although a mere pittance, which meant work at the Le Haut residence must be completed first. She found herself arriving at l'Opéra later and later each day, long after most of the dancers (and handsome choreographers) had returned home. She worked until late in the evening, often well after midnight, carefully locking up behind her and walking the two blocks back to her meager rooms behind the Le Haut mansion, only to rise before dawn and repeat.

It was after one such late night, just after the youngest Le Haut had celebrated her first anniversary, that she found herself cleaning the director's office when his door opened and she found herself face to face with him for the first time since he'd taken her breath away all those months ago. He stared, his face unreadable, as she bowed her head and tried to take her leave. As she walked past, he touched her wrist gently, and she froze, her heart hammering so loud she was certain the dancers could keep time to it if they needed to.

"Odette," he breathed her name in supplication, and she turned to face him. "Do you know I cannot get you out of my head?" Shocked by his boldness as much as the words themselves, she only stared, as he took both of her hands in his. "There have been so many women thrown at me these many months. Any one of them would make a fine wife, I suppose, but I find no joy in their company. You intrigue me, and I think, despite the difference in our circumstance, I mean to say, many people would question it, and certainly there would be talk, what with your debt, and your station, but, that is, Odette, please. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"


	13. Chapter 13

If Mérante could have stepped backward in time one minute, he would have. How could his words have twisted so as they'd emerged from his mouth? No longer the elegant declarations he'd been imaging for months, instead they'd become a monstrous reminder of her lowly station. He hung his head in shame as he waited for her rebuke and was utterly unsurprised when it came.

"I intrigue you? I am not a puzzle box, Monsieur, to be solved then discarded. Thank you for reminding me of my station, thank you for reminding me of my debt, for in all this unending work and pain, I'd forgotten them. Thank you, sir, but I am not interested in trading one debtor for another. Please excuse me."

He watched as Odette moved excruciatingly slowly away from him. She seemed to be putting all her effort into merely putting one foot in front of the other. He started after her, then stopped. She'd looked at him with nothing short of contempt when he'd tried, and failed, to bare his heart to her. He straightened, his face hardening in determination. 'I will prove to her I am worthy,' he thought to himself, and turned back into his office and shutting out the world behind him.


	14. Chapter 14

Rarely since her accident did Odette miss running, but on this day, she cursed her cane and the deliberate, slow steps she forced herself to take to avoid falling. She was disgusted at Mérante, who no doubt wished to take advantage of her, she was furious at herself for once entertaining the ridiculous notion that she might have someday had feelings for him.

A thought occurred to her that sent a jolt of ice through her veins. If Mérante had merely wanted to take advantage of her, he could have. They'd found themselves alone many times; had he been a lesser man… If he simply desired to have her, he could have asked her to be his mistress, elevated her from her station by simply keeping her on the side as so many of the patrons had done. Is it possible that through her pride she'd misunderstood his intentions? She stopped, and turned to face him, but his face was a cold, impassive mask, and he turned on her just as quickly, shutting the door with a finality that shook Odette to the core. She'd had her chance, and through her hubris, she'd let it slip out of her grasp.


End file.
